


No Lovers Left Alive

by Anonymous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: I'm sorry but this is sheer shameless stuff, M/M, Multi, Nonnies Made Me Do It, kink meme fill, please heed the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10023470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: For the kink meme prompt:The much overused hentai scenario of the nubile young thing being gangbanged by their superiors/sponsors starring a 16 yo Victor with long hair, please.





	

_i_

Victor's long hair glinted silver in the cheap fluorescent lighting overhead. His face was marked with cum from multiple sources; lips kiss-bitten and swollen; back arching every time his partner drove into his body relentlessly, grunting and groaning his pleasure against Victor's soft skin.  
  
He was lying atop a sofa, one arm hanging down and the other wrapped loosely around his partner's shoulder. His head rested on a cushion and he was glad for the support because he'd long since lost all ability to stay upright. They had been going at it for a while -- Victor had lost track of time after his third or fourth round -- and his cock lay limp in his lap. He was now just a fuckhole to dump their cum in for these men. And there were _so many_ \-- as it turned out, there were just so many middle-aged and old men willing to sponsor him for the right incentive. Did he really need so many? Victor had wondered in the beginning.  
  
It no longer seemed to matter now.  
  
His current partner bit the jut of Victor's hipbone, jolting him back to the present for a small time and Victor made a soft, pliant sound. He was rewarded with another round of vigorous thrusts right against his prostate. He hid his wince into the musty-smelling cushion, trying not to let his oversensitivity show. It did not take for the man to come and he draped himself over Victor's body, breathing hard into his ear and making him shiver a little. It wasn't unbearable -- or so Victor told himself. His eyes searched for Yakov then, trapped as he was under the weight of a balding, hairy old man who had just finished spilling his sperm inside Victor's abused hole. He found Yakov still in the same spot, still standing to the side as if he had nothing to do with the entire thing.  
  
Yakov's eyes narrowed when they met Victor's, his neck a blotchy mess of red, but he did not say anything. Victor swallowed and turned his face away. He pressed a kiss to the man's rough cheek and panted quietly. The man let out a gruff chuckle and moved away, pulling out of Victor's body and it took _everything_ Victor had to not hiss in pain. He felt more cum dribble out of his ass and the wet stain underneath got damper, but Victor's limbs were beyong moving.  
  
There was quiet for a while, only the sound of low murmurs on the periphery of his awareness as the man chatted with Yakov while putting his clothes back on. Victor stared at the ceiling as drowsiness assailed him, but he felt far too sore to just pass out. There were multiple bruises on his body, bite marks littered his shoulders and neck, and several hand-shaped marks dotted his hips and thighs. He was sweaty and smelled strongly of sex and the stench of other men. He took another deep breath and tried to block out everything else.  
  
Then, he heard footsteps and went boneless against the couch again. The last thing he wanted to fuck this up _now_ , after having put up with this for so long. The touch, when it came, however, was so much different than before. Victor's eyes fluttered open as his chin was tilted to face his next partner, and his breath caught in his throat as he found himself looking into Yakov's eyes.  
  
Yakov who had already shed his longcoat and hat, his shirt halfway unbuttoned, the suspenders off his shoulders and something dark swirling inside his normally harsh eyes. His pupils were dilated and his breaths came in controlled but long jerks. Victor trembled, for the first time, as something inside him snapped. He lifted his tired arms and wrapped them around Yakov's neck, pushing his face into his familiar shoulder, familiar warmth and let out a broken sob. Yakov also wrapped his arms around Victor and buried his hands into his hair, tugging it gently and rubbed his back until Victor's cries subsided.  
  
After that, he pushed Victor back into the couch and slid over his body, parting his thighs with ease and peppered it with kisses. He unzipped his pants and slid into Victor's body easily, but Victor still felt the burn and stretch of it, felt fuller than he had before, though it wasn't as if Yakov was the biggest he'd had this evening. But Victor felt like he was full to bursting, his heart thumping against the cage of ribs like a nervous bird. Tears leaked from his eyes freely again, though he made no sound. He let Yakov fuck him, tugging on his tangled and sweat-matted hair, pushing and pulling him apart at the seams. And then putting him back together with impossibly gentle kisses across his brow and cheeks.  
  
Victor wasn' hard, wasn't turned on, but he longer felt pain or discomfort from before. He was too exhausted to move with Yakov, but he made sure to clutch tight onto Yakov's arms and moan and sob as Yakov took his pleasure and gave comfort in return. When Yakov came, he spilled inside Victor and Victor _welcomed_ it. When Yakov pulled out halfway through his own orgasm and let ribbons of cum spray across Victor's clenching stomach, Victor loved it. And later, he let Yakov push over his chest and sucked him clean with his mouth, milking him for all he was worth. The corners of mouth no longer stung and his jaw did not ache. Or if it did, Victor could no longer feel it.  
  
Later, Yakov lifted him in his arms as if Victor weighed nothing at all, and took him to the baths. Cleaned him up, inside out, and put him to bed, warm and safe. And Victor believed it. Believed _him_.

* * *

_ii_

The satin sheets were cool against his back. Victor breathed softly through his mouth, tongue lying useless in his mouth as he tried to drown out the scent of sex and sweat from his senses. It wasn’t working, so far. His chest moved with sluggish inhales and exhales as his body cooled down. He did, however, know better than to hope that it was going to end there. No, the night had just begun. Outside, the stars twinkled in the clear May night. It was the off-season, so that meant he had to prepare for the next one, and this was just as much a part of it than working out his routines.  
  
And just so: the door slid open to reveal the silhouette of his biggest sponsor, half-dressed, shoulders bathed in the artificial light from the corridor. He was man in his early fifties, but one who had bothered to maintain his body well, so he didn’t look much over forty. He smiled, warm and slow, as he noticed Victor looking at him and then padded over to him. There was a damp towel slung around his shoulders, which he removed to wipe the sweat and other fluids off Victor’s body.  
  
“How are you?” He asked, softly brushing his swollen lips with the soft edge of the towel.  
  
“I’m fine,” Victor lied and tried not to lean into the gentle touch. They weren’t always this nice, but Vladimir – Vlad, he was always nice. At least, afterwards.  
  
Vlad wiped down his body until he reached Victor’s spent cock, cleaning it with utmost care and consideration, but it was still too sensitive and Victor couldn’t help hissing through his teeth. Vlad’s icy blue eyes shot up to his face, assessing him briefly before he continued. Once that was done, he turned Victor around, pressing his face into the soft pillow. Vlad cleaned his back too, and then fingered his puffed entrance, finger tracing the swollen rim of muscles. Victor shuddered and bit the pillow so as to not make any noise.  
  
“Does it hurt?”  
  
Victor shook his head, hiding his face under the curtain of long silver hair. It served him well in times like these.  
  
“All right,” Vlad said and slid a finger inside him, completely dry. Fortunately, Victor was still pretty lubed up from before, so it didn’t hurt as much as it could have – but that did not mean that there was an absence of pain. The finger breached him, deliberate and probing, brushing against his prostate and then inside. Victor understood then: this wasn’t about pleasure anymore. Vlad had come earlier, tossed away the condom to the side, and had left him here. Now, the real game could begin.  
  
Fear crawled up his spine unbidden.  
  
A large, warm hand rested in the middle of his back, pressing down with nearly all of the weight of the body behind it, choking him. “Stay still,” Vlad told him, and Victor realised he was twitching. He couldn’t – wasn’t allowed to do that either. He forced himself to go still, holding his breath until he was permitted to draw another. It was difficult, anyway, until Vlad stopped crushing him like this. The finger inside him was withdrawn and replaced with a long, slippery thing – a dildo? Victor realised with a start – that seemed to go on forever. It took everything in him to not whimper. He wasn’t unused to pain – skating was a punishing sport on the body, but this made him vulnerable and hurt in ways he had no idea he could, still, hurt.  
  
The pressure on his ribs eased slightly, and Victor gasped, lifting a few inches from the pillow to suck in several lungfuls of air. Vlad took that opportunity and grabbed him by the hair, twisting his fingers in the soft strands, and drew his body back into an arc. Taut like a bow, body bent at an awkward angle, Vlad set the most relentless pace he could manage. The cold plastic toy – slowly being warmed by his body itself – slid in out of him without mercy or care. It burned. Oh how it burned, but Victor took it with gritted teeth.  
  
Vlad placed his knee on the middle of Victor’s spine and held him perpendicular to the bed, like a mockery of the beautiful, graceful layback Ina Bauer and the irony wasn’t lost even on Victor’s feverish mind. He let his hands flop to his sides uselessly. He was flexible enough to do this with, but he wasn’t sure if Vlad wasn’t just trying to break him.  
  
“Put your hands down,” Vlad instructed him, voice breathless as if he was the one being fucked raw. “I don’t want you to act like a doll.”  
  
Victor leaned forward – his scalp tingled as his hair was pulled back – and placed his palms on the cool fabric below. Vlad made a sound of approval, low in his throat. His hand never ceased and before long, Victor could feel his insides clench and flutter around the hard plastic, craving it like it was a real cock. His eyes flew open, a distressed sound escaping his mouths as he realised it. He wanted it, in some way, did he not? A low heat simmered in his stomach and he hung his head, uncaring if that caused Vlad to pull some of his hair out. He was too ashamed to keep looking up.  
  
Vlad caught on, however, and stopped abruptly. He pushed Victor’s head to the bed and covered Victor’s slender body with his much larger one. “Beginning to feel it, are you?” He whispered, hot, into Victor’s ear.  
  
Victor could only tremble in response, unable to vocalise anything.  
  
“I envy your youth so much,” Vlad continued, teeth skimming the edge of his ear. “There’s nothing I want more to push my cock into your body – so open and so hot, just for me – and fuck you into this mattress. I would fuck you through the night, and keep fucking until you can’t walk straight for three days.”  
  
Victor bit his lip and felt a whine curl in his chest. He couldn’t let it out. He bit hard enough to draw blood, but it was no use. His body had gone beyond his control already. The toy was still lodged deep inside him, a reminder of what he could not have right now, and it ached. He was so full and yet, he still felt empty.  
  
“You would like that, wouldn’t you? I can feel it through your body, Victor.” Vlad dropped his name like a purr. “There’s nothing more you’d like than being claimed and kept, would you? Become something for my use, just like this—” Vlad nudged the toy inside him with his knee. “—Right?”  
  
Victor keened softly and jerked in Vlad’s grip, trying to grind his erection into the mattress below. Vlad turned him around, keeping his weight on his body at all times and let Victor rub himself against his hip. Victor wrapped his arms around Vlad’s shoulders, buried his face into his shoulder and arched into his body over and over until he was coming. His mind blanked out with the pleasure – the first orgasm that didn’t drive him to tears after a long, long time – and he was only dimly aware of the lifting of pressure over his body, as the toy was removed from his body. And then he was being cleaned and wrapped up in soft warm blankets.  
  
A kiss was pressed to his forehead, more tender than that was his wont.  
  
“Goodnight, Victor. Sleep well. I’ll be happy to renew our contract as many times you want, so don’t worry.”  
  
Distress fluttered deep in his chest, but Vlad pushed it down and caressed his hair until Victor couldn’t stay awake anymore, but with the knowledge that that was how it was.

* * *

 

_iii_

When Victor was sixteen, he’d finally gone up to the senior division. The decision to wait one year was something that was made between him and Yakov – and he was talented, of course, enough to really take Seniors or Juniors, no matter what, but. He’d decided to wait. And so, when the Worlds was over and he’d won the Junior’s division by a large margin, they formally announced that he was going to the Seniors finally. Victor had smiled at the cameras, tossed a rose at a young and coming competitor and played a gracious athlete all around. It wasn’t really an act, because this was how he really felt. He wanted to see more skaters flourish and reach the same stage, he wanted people to succeed, he wanted – perhaps, all he wanted was for him to not be so lonely anymore.  
  
Though, there was a part of the whole thing that he did not wish on anyone. The part that had him parked at a hotel in Paris at the end of April, the streets slowly coming to life at night, glittering lights unspooling as far as his eyes could see. Victor glanced longingly out of the window, carding his fingers through his silky long hair without purpose. Soon, he’d have to get ready and the illusion of this being a vacation would break, and Victor might just break along with it.  
  
It wouldn’t do to get that gloomy right away, would it? Victor pressed his finger over his lips to hold everything teeming behind his teeth back, and pressed his cheek to the cold window. The reprieve only lasted a couple of minutes, before the inevitable knock on his door came. Two knocks, then the sound of key turning, and Yakov let himself in. He was carrying a large clothes bag on his arm, and were – were those _stilettos_? Victor’s cheeks warmed at the idea of wearing those, because balancing himself on ice was one thing, but –  
  
Yakov threw all of it on the bed and walked out of the room without another word. Victor tried not to let it get to him. Yakov refused to touch him, more and more, as time went on and Victor didn’t know what he’d done wrong. And since he didn’t know what he’d done wrong, he couldn’t fix it. The distance between them yawned beneath Victor’s feet, threatening to swallow him up. Still, he told himself: at least Yakov was still his coach. At least, Yakov hadn’t abandoned him like everything else.  
  
He went to the bed and unzipped the bag to reveal a beautiful dress in the colour of opal, the fabric slipping through his fingers like liquid silk. Soft. It wasn’t that much different than the costumes he wore on the ice, except for being entirely feminine. He could do this without any issues. He knew he could. It didn’t really reveal much skin either – full-sleeved and a high neck, but then Victor was slowly starting to fill out, so despite the fine cut of his jaw, he’d still stand out like a sore thumb in anything more revealing.  
  
Victor slipped the dress on, the lingerie that accompanied it, and the sheer white stockings. He walked over to the mirror to admire himself for a moment, because he wasn’t unaware of how he looked. Of course not. He pulled his hair into a loose bun, put on some lip balm. His hair would still stand out, even in such a disguise – would anyone be expecting Russia’s up and coming figure skater Victor Nikiforov to put on a dress, step into high heels, and then hang off the arm of this or that man? It was hard to say.  
  
He looked again at the mirror and only saw two hollow blue eyes stare back at him. Victor tried to smile at himself, to soften his features into something close to what he felt on the ice, but it didn’t work. Nothing did. Sighing, he pushed his fingers into his hair, dishevelling it a bit, and walked out of the room.  
  
It would have to do.  
  
***  
  
It didn’t do, at all.  
  
There were eight of them. Eight men. He hadn’t been expecting that many because Yakov had desisted from letting too many men paw at him since that day, and Victor had been grateful. This, though, felt like betrayal. Victor was sat in a soft, red couch, and the men crowded around him. He felt boxed in, trapped by the heat of their bodies, their gazes that lingered over him and the way they kept finding excuses to brush against his knees or thighs.  
  
Yakov was nowhere to be found.  
  
Victor swallowed his drink, something fruity but his taste-buds were currently not working at all. His stomach was full of butterflies, so he didn’t attempt to eat anything either, just pushing the vegetables around on his plate until the tedious affair was over. However, he knew that the end of dinner would also signal the start of _other_ things.  
  
One large found itself on his thigh before the plates were even cleared and refused to leave no matter how much he tried to squirm away. He wondered as his lungs started to constrict and his vision got hazy: why did this part never get easy? He should already be used to this, and yet, each and every time he felt awful enough to vomit. The disgust curled up inside his chest and tried to push its way out of his mouth, either as a scream or a whimper, Victor had no idea. All awareness was focused on the warmth of that offending hand on his thigh and Victor wished, fervently, for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.  
  
Another hand wrapped itself around his hair, tugging painfully until his hair fell around his shoulders in a cloud of silver. They fisted his hair in their fingers and pulled his neck back, baring his neck for them. A mouth closed over the delicate line of his throat and Victor closed his eyes, letting the drug he knew they’d fed him sweep him away. It robbed him of most of his senses, though he wasn’t entirely unconscious – just loose, completely out of focus, so he could pretend that when they touched him, it wasn’t _really_ him.  
  
They spread him out on the couch, tearing the fabric of his dress to expose his skin, and hovered over him with identical predatory smiles, but Victor was already far, far away.  
  
One of them lifted his leg and propped it over the back of the couch, exposing his underwear clad crotch to their hungry gazes. Another man slid the tiny, lacy thing down his thighs and left it that. It wasn’t as if it had hidden any of his modesty in the first place, so Victor was hardly going to mourn its loss. Also, _what_ modesty?  
  
“His skin is so smooth,” said the man who was currently running his knuckles up Victor’s inner thigh. “Almost like a woman’s.”  
  
“Well, we didn’t pay for a woman this time, so it doesn’t really matter.” The man behind him said.  
  
He got a chuckle in response. “But really, what a pity that this kid is that talented on the ice. Can you imagine the price he would fetch if we were to sell him?”  
  
“He’s currently making waves for the nation, so enjoy while you can. You can tell your grandkids later that you fucked Russia’s National Hero on the cusp of his adulthood.” The speaker of those words came into focus, and Victor’s heart, even in this state, stuttered briefly. It was a familiar face; one that was rarely unwelcome before, but right now it was also the ultimate betrayal. As if Victor didn’t already have enough of this before. He let out a soft gasp and turned his face away, eyes burning. It seemed to amuse the crowd around him, however.  
  
Quietly, swiftly, they tore into his clothes like a pack of hungry wolves. Someone – Victor did not know their names nor did he care to find out – tied a piece of fabric around his cock drawing his balls up. It hurt. It hurt quite a bit, but Victor did not make a sound again. They turned him around and prepared him, sloppy and impatient in their hurry to get inside. He could smell the arousal on them now, the head of it radiating through their expensive suits. Some of them were already stroking their cocks through their pants, others had pulled them out. Victor clenched his eyes shut and buried his face into the softness of the couch.  
  
He knew that it would be over at some point. The quicker it began, the faster it would end. But it _would_ end. It always did.  
  
In the end, they couldn’t be bothered with complete preparations – not that Victor expected them to – and he felt the slimy touch of a condom-covered erection on the rim of his asshole. He took a deep breath and willed himself to relax. Struggling would only make it hurt more. He was so tired of hurting. He went limp and boneless against the intrusion, and that helped take off the edge from the bluntness of the penetration. It did hurt, but not as much as it could have and that was a victory in itself. So far.  
  
Sweat dripped on his back as the man bent over his prone form, fucking him in earnest. Victor’s body bounced gently on the couch, rubbing his limp cock against the soft material, and he tried to imagine something else. Anything at all. He thought of his dog – his beautiful Makkachin who always welcomed him home with enthusiasm. Seemed to love him no matter what, and only cared about food and pettings as a reward. Nothing more. Dogs were uncomplicated creatures after all. The thought sent a pang through Victor’s chest and he squeezed his eyes, trying to not let the moisture escape them.  
  
The man above him grunted and then spilled his seed inside the condom, right inside Victor. There was a small period where his weight rested directly on Victor’s body, and then he was off. Victor took a deep breath, rubbed his nose and prepared himself for round two. It was more or less the same as the first guy, but with a bit of biting mixed in. The man was a _biter_ and he marked Victor’s neck and shoulder with his teeth until he, too, was coming inside. The third one, however, was on the heavier side so Victor tried to get in as much oxygen into his lungs between thrusts. He clenched his fingers and bit the couch, steeling himself for the rest that would follow. He could do this – probably. It didn’t feel as suffocating as the first time this had happened, so maybe he _was_ getting used to it.  
  
And how depressing was _that_?  
  
He stifled a laugh of disbelief and focused on breathing.  
  
Once that pressure was lifted, there was a brief lull in which Victor drifted in and out of consciousness. Then, without warning, there was a touch on the abused rim of his entrance – delicate but firm and Victor gasped, caught unawares. “Turn him over,” a voice commanded, and he was suddenly facing the ceiling again. The familiar face loomed over him again, lips thinned into an amused smile, and a touch – soft as feather but deadly – parted his lips for a kiss. That was the first time Victor flinched that entire night, trying to pull away from the unwanted contact, but the man above did not relent. Was never going to relent.  
  
A camera was placed on the table they had dined on previously, set to record.  
  
“Beautiful,” he murmured into Victor’s mouth. “And saved for posterity.”  
  
Victor tore his mouth away and panted, weak and dizzy. “D-did Yakov agree to that?”  
  
“What Yakov doesn’t know cannot hurt him,” came the amused answer. Then, Victor was being kissed again. Robbed of his breath and refuge in darkness, Victor struggled – however futile – before someone tied his hands too. That man’s weight settled in heavily on Victor’s thighs and his cock rested heavy on Victor’s hip. The heat and weight of it was familiar, just as was his taste and for the first time that night, Victor let himself cry.  
  
And it wouldn’t be the last.

* * *

 

_iv_

The image on the screen was a little staticky, like from the VHS tapes of old, but it had been an unmarked CD, so someone must have converted the video over. Yuuri pressed play, not knowing what to expect. It took a while for the camera to come into focus; the scene being that of an interior of some kind of a restaurant. There was cutlery on the table, and remains of food that hadn't been cleared away. The face of the man handling the camera had been blurred out, but Yuuri could see the fair hair and pale skin. Some kind of foreign movie? AV? He wondered why he had bothered to check it out _anyway_ , even if it had come in the mail. Unmarked packages were regularly sent to the homes of famous athletes like Victor, but this one had been addressed to him, so it was someone who knew Yuuri was staying here and Yuuri's curiosity was piqued.  
  
Finally, on the screen, the picture was coming into focus: it wasn't very sharp and the colours were a bit dull, but it was serviceable. The man moved from in front of the camera and Yuuri found himself looking the figure of a prone woman, dressed in a tattered white dress and her silver — Yuuri's breath caught in his throat — hair spilled over her naked shoulder like a curtain.  
  
It could be blonde for all he knew, given the quality of the video. It had to be.  
  
The figure turned towards the camera and an intensely, intimately familiar face stared at him through his screen. A very familiar face with a wholly unfamiliar look. Yuuri's fingers tightened into fists as he watched panic bloom over that youthful face, splotched red with kiss-bitten lips and bruised jaw. Someone had been terribly unkind to him and it showed on Victor's soft — Yuuri knew how soft it was, after all — skin.  
  
There were five, ten – no, maybe even more men around Victor, but Yuuri couldn't tell as their faces were blurred out. Only Victor's face was left in there, twisted with pain and panic. Yuuri's heart beat up a storm inside his chest as a large man loomed over Victor, grabbing his jaw right where it was bruised and forcing him to keep his face angled towards the camera. He spread Victor's legs with other hand and slid into him easily, bouncing Victor in his lap as he fucked him raw.  
  
Another man came over and grabbed a handful of Victor's lovely hair, pulling back to work his cock into Victor's mouth. At first Victor refused to open his mouth, so the first man pinched his jaw until Victor groaned audibly, startling Yuuri. Victor's mouth fell open and the man fed him his cock and pushed it straight into his throat. He could _hear_ Victor choke, sputter and gag over it.  
  
Yuuri hadn't realised he was shaking quite yet.  
  
The two men worked in tandem until Victor's body became no more than a ragdoll between them, and it went on until they both came. The second man smeared his come over Victor's face, rubbing the tip of his cock over Victor's lips and cheeks. And since Victor's face was held securely in place, there was no way he could avoid it.  
  
The first man pulled out and turned Victor's body around so that his front was facing the camera now, legs spilling over the couch where Yuuri could see his limp penis lying over his abdomen. They maneuvered his legs so the camera was focused on his swollen opening that dribbled with the release of the man who had just raped him.  
  
The man said something — in Russian, Yuuri realised — and then they laughed. There was a few moments of respite, before another man pulled Victor up and got him in his lap, thrusting into his opening again and continued the fucking. Victor was entirely limp in their grip, not protesting, not even moving on his own volition. The only indication that he was a human being was the tears that leaked out of his eyes every now and then, and the other times, the soft sounds of protest he made when they hurt him too hard.  
  
Bile touched the back of Yuuri's throat, drawing him out of the stupor and jolting him back to the reality. He fumbled for the remote and switched the TV off, walked to the DVD player and got the CD out. His hands were shaking badly enough to miss the eject button multiple times. Eventually, though, he had the offending disc in his hand. Yuuri stood there, clutching at the disc and smudging it with his fingers, not knowing what to do with it. He felt sick. He was probably going to throw up if he kept thinking about this.  
  
"I – I'm sorry," came a soft, familiar voice from the corner of the room and Yuuri dropped the disc like it had burnt him. When did _Victor_ —  
  
Victor was standing in a corner, a bag of groceries clutched to his chest and he was trying to look... _small_ somehow. His shoulders were hunched and he wouldn't meet Yuuri's eyes. If Yuuri could have met his, at this moment, anyway.  
  
"V-Victor," Yuuri exclaimed, and winced at how awful his voice sounded. He had no idea what to say. Or do.  
  
"I'm sorry," Victor repeated, miserably and seemed to shrink into the corner even further. The ache inside Yuuri's chest was beginning to spread to the tips of his fingers and if he didn't do anything soon, he was sure he'd collapse.  
  
So he walked forward, keeping his pace slow and measured, even as his own chest tried to cave in. He didn't want to startle Victor. Didn't want to hurt him with sudden movements, in case that bothered him. He wasn't even sure if Victor wanted to be touched right now. When he was close enough, he swallowed and took a bracing breath. "Why are you sorry?"  
  
"You weren't meant to know about that – _ever_."  
  
"Then I'm sorry, Victor. If I had known, I would not have watched it. Not," he added, quickly, "that I didn't want to know, but I know me finding out like this has hurt you." A pause. "Can I touch you?"  
  
Victor took a while in responding, but he set aside the groceries aside and nodded in the end. Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief and stepped forward to fold Victor into his arms, only to stagger when Victor's entire weight came to rest over him. Victor had simply collapsed on top of him, but at that moment Yuuri had no complaints.  
  
He rubbed Victor's back and hair, gentle, so gentle because Victor did look as if he'd shatter if he wasn't. He coaxed Victor into following him to the couch and there he settled both of them comfortably. Victor was sprawled over his body, face hidden in Yuuri's chest as he trembled and clung tighter to Yuuri.  
  
Yuuri had a lot of questions, but no way of asking them. He didn't even know if it was his place; if it was even appropriate; if there was anything he could do _at all_ at this stage. But: if holding Victor close like this for the rest of their lives helped, he would do it. His eyes stung a little still.  
  
"It's not that you finding out this hurts, Yuuri," Victor said after a long time had passed and his trembling has eased somewhat. "The video — I'm the one who left it there for you."  
  
Yuuri's hand froze over Victor's head. "What?"  
  
"I was too scared of talking about it directly. I had no idea how you would react, so I thought the best way would be to just...let you see it, I guess. I would have asked Yakov, but he still has a lot of leftover guilt from this incident, so I had to make a choice."  
  
Yuuri stared at Victor, feeling like someone had put his brain through the blender. "What?" He repeated, feeling dumb.  
  
Victor lifted his face from Yuuri's chest. His eyes were dry but his face was drawn, the line of his lips drawn thin and taut for once. "At first I didn't want to tell you because it was scary. What would you think? Would you hate me or want to leave?"  
  
"Wait," Yuuri said, interrupting before Victor would continue, because he felt he had to. "Before you say anything more, there is no need for you to worry about those things. I'm not going to _leave_ or _hate_ you because of this."  
  
Victor blinked. Some of then tension seeped from his face and he lowered his eyes for a bit. "All right," he conceded. "Thank you, Yuuri. I thought that you should know still, because sooner or later, we'd probably have sex — that is, if you'd like to, because I do want to. And it's not fair to either of us if you didn't know, I guess. I'm not sure if I have lingering trauma from what happened, but I don't want to find out in the middle of something with you, and then freaking you out as well."  
  
Yuuri put his hand back on Victor's hair again and stroked it gently, brushing it off his eye and caressing his face gently. Victor melted into his touch and closed his eyes, making Yuuri's heart throb painfully.  
  
"I see. It makes sense. I'm sorry — it must have been so hard and so painful. Having gone through that, then dealing with it for all these years, and then not being able to share it with me because you had no idea how I might react to it." The last few words came as a whisper because Yuuri was crying now, and once the dam broke, he couldn't stop.  
  
"Yuuri?" Victor's eyes fluttered open, then crinkled in distress as he noticed Yuuri's tears. "Why are you crying?"  
  
"Because I'm sad," Yuuri replied and drew Victor closer, even though they were pressed so close together. "I love you. I love you. I love you so much."  
  
Victor kissed him, kissed away his tears even as his own fell on Yuuri's cheeks. He kissed until Yuuri kissed him back, kissed him breathless and forgot about their tears. Victor snuggled into Yuuri's body again and made himself at home there while Yuuri gently brushed Victor's lovely, soft, short hair with his fingers.  
  
"If you don't mind me asking," Yuuri asked after a long bout of comfortable, companionable silence. "I hope this didn't happen again? And...where are these men now?" Yuuri couldn't keep the venom out of his voice.  
  
"It had happened once before this, but never afterwards, no. Yakov didn't let it happen. As for those men, they are now irrelevant. Once I got the CD from them, any leverage they might have had was gone too. You shouldn't underestimate the clout the title of Living Legend holds in Russia. If they had tried to destroy my career, and if as a result we lost gold medals in competitions, the entire nation would have hated them. It wasn't hard to get them to relinquish this."  
  
"Huh," Yuuri said faintly. "That's good to hear. I'm glad you didn't have to go through that again."  
  
"Yes." Victor nodded and pressed his face into the crook of Yuuri's neck, breathing there softly. "Because there wouldn't have been a third time. I wouldn't have survived it, Yuuri, and that is sad because then I would have never met you." Victor's fingers dug into the flesh of Yuuri's arms, hard enough to hurt.  
  
A world without Victor, not something Katsuki Yuuri wanted to contemplate about. He pressed his cheek to Victor's hair and took a deep, calming breath. "I'm glad about that too, Victor. Is there anything I can do for you? Right now?" His voice was a fragile, brittle thing right now, but he couldn't help it.  
  
Victor seemed to consider it for a while, before he lifted his head to look at Yuuri again. "Just stay with me and never leave."  
  
The line startled Yuuri enough to make him break into a small laugh. "I was already planning to do that, but Victor—"  
  
"Yes?" Victor's eyes twinkled a little, wet though they were.  
  
"That's my line, you know."  
  
And then Victor laughed with him too.

**Author's Note:**

> [this is the ending, folks! I'm sorry it was more of a feels parade than smut...someone else can write that, because I have FAILED. anyway, I might or might not write a coda to this where Yuuri and Victor have sex for the first time! but it might be too fluffy for me, I might be busy w/ work again, and might be stuck with writer's block, so I make no promises. thanks for reading so far, hope you enjoyed, writer!nonnie out! o/]


End file.
